Chapter 10
1127 Words
I heard the front door open.
Then, a sharp, audible gasp from my mother. "Oh! You're... Luke, right? Emily's..." Her voice trailed off, thick with sudden, awkward warmth.
"The young man who drives her to school! Emilia, honey," she called back towards the kitchen, her voice brightening with misplaced delight, "your boyfriend's here!"
The word boyfriend hung in the air, absurd and terrifying.
Zach recoiled like he'd been slapped, his eyes bulging behind his glasses.
Lilly's grip on my wrist tightened to the point of pain, her knuckles white.
Luke’s voice followed, smooth and disarmingly polite, carrying easily down the hall. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Thompson. Sorry to drop by unannounced." The practiced charm in his tone made my skin crawl.
"I was just driving past and saw Emily’s friend Zachary’s bike leaning against the porch." He paused, letting the implication sink in.
"Thought I’d check if everything was okay." The menace beneath the pleasantry was a physical weight pressing against my ribs.
Zach whimpered softly, sliding almost entirely under the table.
My mother’s laugh sounded brittle. "Oh, everything's fine! The kids are just having lunch. Come in, come in!" Footsteps approached the kitchen doorway.
Lilly released my wrist, her expression hardening into impassive stone.
She didn't look at me, didn't look at Zach cowering beneath the tablecloth. Her gaze fixed solely on the doorway, her body coiled like a spring.
The polite facade Luke wore as he stepped into the kitchen was terrifyingly incongruous with the raw possessiveness burning in his blue eyes.
His gaze swept past my mother, past Lilly’s rigid form, and locked instantly onto the trembling lump beneath the tablecloth where Zach hid.
A muscle twitched in Luke’s jaw.
His polite smile remained plastered on, but his eyes, fixed on the trembling lump beneath the tablecloth, were glacial.
"Everything looks... cozy," he said, his voice unnervingly calm.
He shifted his gaze slowly to me, the intensity making my breath catch. "Emily." His voice softened, almost tender, yet it carried an undeniable edge.
"You left your wallet in my car yesterday. Found it wedged under the passenger seat." He held up a familiar, worn leather bifold – mine.
My mother beamed, utterly charmed. "Oh, Luke, how thoughtful! Emilia, you really should be more careful."
She turned back to the sink, oblivious. Zach whimpered audibly beneath the tablecloth.
Luke’s gaze flickered down towards the sound, his knuckles whitening where he gripped my wallet.
The pleasant mask didn’t slip, but the air crackled with silent violence.
Lilly remained motionless beside me, a statue carved from ice, her eyes tracking Luke’s every micro-expression.
Luke took a deliberate step closer to the table, his presence filling the small kitchen.
He placed my wallet carefully in front of me, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second – a contact that felt like a brand. "Here you go," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine. "Wouldn’t want you losing anything important." The double meaning hung heavy.
His gaze slid pointedly towards the tablecloth shielding Zach. "Especially with... guests around." The threat was velvet-wrapped steel.
My mother bustled over with a plate. "Luke, would you like some lunch? We've got plenty!" Luke finally tore his gaze from me and Zach’s hiding spot, turning the full force of his charming smile on her. "That’s very kind, Mrs. Thompson, but I can’t stay."
He glanced pointedly at his watch. "Football practice starts soon. Coach would have my head."
He paused, his smile widening, utterly devoid of warmth. "But maybe Emily could walk me out? Just for a moment?" His eyes locked back onto mine, daring me to refuse.
"There’s something else I wanted to mention... privately." The command was absolute. The performance demanded its final act.
My mother waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, Emilia! Go ahead, honey." Her cheerful obliviousness was a knife twisting in my gut. Lilly’s hand brushed my arm under the table, a fleeting pressure – a warning.
Zach remained utterly silent beneath the tablecloth, a terrified statue. I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping harshly on the linoleum.
My legs felt like lead weights.
Luke extended his arm towards the hallway, a mockery of gentlemanly courtesy. "After you," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.
The predatory gleam in his eyes promised this wasn't about a forgotten wallet.
I walked ahead of him down the short hallway, acutely aware of his presence filling the space behind me, the heat radiating off him.
The front door stood open, revealing his imposing truck parked directly opposite. He stopped me just inside the threshold, out of sight of the kitchen but still within earshot.
The polite facade vanished instantly. His expression hardened, the intensity in his eyes shifting from possessive to something sharper, more urgent. "Your phone," he demanded, his voice a low rasp, devoid of charm. He held out his hand, palm up. "Give it to me. Now."
I blinked, confused. "My... phone? Why?" It felt like a non sequitur after the wallet charade.
His jaw tightened, impatience flashing across his face. "Just give it to me, Emily." The command brooked no argument.
His outstretched hand didn't waver. Hesitantly, heart hammering against my ribs, I pulled my phone from my jeans pocket and placed it in his palm.
His fingers closed around it, his knuckles still scraped raw from yesterday's violence.
He swiped it unlocked – he knew my passcode? – and his thumbs flew over the screen with practiced speed.
He was adding a new contact.
"You don't have my number," he stated flatly, as if it were an unforgivable oversight.
"Now you do. Top of your contacts. 'Luke'." He handed the phone back, his gaze boring into mine. "If anyone makes you feel unsafe, if Tiffany or Scarlet or anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you call me. Immediately. Understand?"
His voice was low, fierce, protective, yet the underlying possessiveness was a suffocating blanket. "No one touches you. No one threatens you. Not while I'm here."
The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming, a storm of grief and rage and something else I couldn't name.
My thoughts spiraled back to Zach cowering under the table, Lilly’s chilling focus, Luke’s glacial stare fixed on that trembling lump.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice barely a whisper. "Are you... are you mad? That Zach was here?"
It felt absurd, asking this predator about his feelings towards my terrified friend, but the question had clawed its way out.
Luke’s brows furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face, momentarily displacing the intensity.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me.
"Mad? Why would I be mad that Mitchell was here?" His tone was perplexed, almost dismissive, as if the very idea was irrelevant.
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